


A First Time For Everything

by MsBarrows



Series: Arren & Co. [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Romance, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-25
Updated: 2011-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-31 08:22:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBarrows/pseuds/MsBarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on the k!meme:</p><div class="center">"Innocent/Inexperience M!Warden is used by Morrigan"</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Small Kindness

Morrigan looked up from her fire as the Warden drew close. "Arren," she said, dipping her head slightly in acknowledgement of his presence.

A slight smile curved his lips. "Here's your stew," he said, and held out a tin plate full of what he and Alistair insisted on calling their 'never-ending stew'.

"Thank you," she said, accepting the plate from him.

"You're welcome," he said, and turned to walk back to the fire shared by himself, Alistair, Sten and Leliana.

"You don't have to do this, you know," she said abruptly.

Arren stopped and turned, looked at her curiously. "What? Bring you your meal?"

"Yes. I am perfectly capable of fetching my own sustenance, you know."

Arren smiled, lips crooking up more at one side than the other. "I know. But it gives me an excuse to get away from the bard for a while. For some reason she doesn't feel welcome over at this end of the campsite."

"Possibly due to my threatening to turn her into a toad if she did not cease proselytizing her absurd faith to me," Morrigan said dryly, and took a cautious bite of the stew. "Oh, this is very good tonight."

Arren smiled again, and nodded. "I've stopped letting Alistair have a turn at adding things to the pot. He seems to want to put cheese in everything. And one good thing about Leliana, the woman at least knows her herbs; she found a few things to add to improve the flavour while we were setting up camp."

Morrigan nodded. "She does have her uses, I suppose," she agreed, then nodded to the ground nearby. "Don't loom so. If you're going to stay and talk, have a seat."

Arren grinned, and sat down, first removing the huge two-handed sword that hung down his back, placing it carefully to hand on the ground beside him. "I do believe that's the first time I've ever been accused of _looming_."

"Aren't you tall for an elf though?" she asked curiously. "You stand almost even with me, and I am no slight figure."

"No, that you're not," Arren agreed, looking her over appreciatively.

Morrigan paused, surprised, then laughed. "Are you _flirting_ with me?" she asked.

"Maybe. If I thought it wouldn't get me turned into a toad," Arren said, smiling and then glancing away for a moment, a faint flush the only sign that he was perhaps feeling a little uncomfortable with the subject.

If he had been Alistair he'd have been blushing outright, she was sure. She was... surprised. And possibly a tiny bit flattered by his interest, as well. He was always such a gentleman about everything, right back to when he'd so honestly thanked her for her role in saving himself and Alistair following their near-deaths at Ostagar. And unlike his fellow-Warden – who still commonly referred to her as "that witch" in a tone of voice that made it clear he'd prefer to be using a word starting with "b" instead – he was unfailing polite. Even... chivalrous. Witness how when she'd begun camping at some distance from the others, he'd started making a habit of bringing her meals over to her. Or how he made a point of soliciting her opinion on matters, not just Alistair's. _Not_ a courtesy he displayed to everyone else, either; he only rarely consulted with the bard about anything, and while he did make a habit of having regular conversations with the qunari they'd rescued from a cage in Lothering, he never asked his advice at all, at least that she'd ever seen.

"I have a question," she stated after a while, before taking up another spoonful of stew.

"Ask away."

"Why that large a sword? 'Tis not a usual weapon among the elves, is it? The blade is almost taller than you are."

Arren smiled, shrugged. "I don't know. I'd started as an archer, actually, but I was never very happy with a bow. I was thinking of switching and trying dual-weapons instead, so I went to see our master craftsman so I could try some blades out. He sometimes did commissions for shem he'd met in his travels, and he'd just finished a big sword for a friend of his. It was standing there, leaning against the side of his aravel, and I picked it up out of curiosity, wondering what a weapon that huge would feel like... and it just felt _right_ , which none of his smaller blades did. So I talked him into making me a two-handed sword as well. Finding a piece of ironwood big enough, and then someone who could teach me to use it, was the real problem; you're right that it's not a common weapon among the elvhen."

Morrigan nodded. They both fell silent, neither of them very comfortable with conversing with others. Especially others of the opposite sex.

"Well, I should get back to the main camp," Arren said after a while. "I can take that back, if you'd like," he said, nodding at her now-empty plate as he rose and lifted his sword back on.

"Thank you," she said gravely, handing it over to him. "Perhaps we can talk again another night?"

He smiled, warmly. "I'd like that," he agreed, almost shyly, before he turned and walked away to the other fire.

She found herself smiling, watching him walk away.


	2. Changing Perceptions

Another long day of walking, broken only by a stop for lunch, and a brief encounter with a small group of darkspawn, easily defeated. Morrigan helped set up the firepit to reheat the pot of never-ending stew, then slipped off into the surrounding forest, feeling a sense of relief as she transformed into a hawk and winged up into the sky, enjoying the pleasure of flight.

She soared for a while, taking advantage of the late-afternoon thermals to climb high into the sky, gliding effortlessly from up-draft to up-draft before folding her wings and dropping down, scanning the nearby clearings for small game. She saw a pair of pheasants burst from the edge of the forest, winging up across one clearing, and altered her path, aiming for the lead bird. She hit it at speed, talons sinking into its neck and back, carrying it down out of the sky with her to thump down on the ground. She quickly lowered her head, biting through its spine to finish it off, before hopping off its back and looking warily around. She was startled to see the second pheasant thrashing on the ground nearby, an arrow through its neck She mantled her wings, preparing to abandon her prey and fly off, then recognized the elf stepping out from under the trees. She lowered her wings, watching Arren warily as he walked toward the pheasant he'd shot down, then abruptly made up her mind and changed back to human form. Arren froze, a look of dumbfounded surprise on his face.

"Morrigan!" he stuttered out after a moment.

"'Tis I," she agreed, bowing her head regally. "Take my kill back to camp too, if you please," she asked, gesturing to the pheasant in the grass at her feet. "I will see if I can get another."

"You... can change shape?"

"Yes, as you saw," she said, then changed back to a hawk and launched herself back into the sky, circling the clearing once, pleased to see the awestruck look on his face as he watched her.

* * *

She returned to camp on foot some time later, carrying a good-sized goose; more bird than a hawk her size really should have stooped on, but with human intelligence driving her wings and talons, and human muscle to deal with carrying it afterwards, a quite acceptable target. Leliana made pleased sounds about it, and settled down to plucking it, saying she would roast it over the coals, so they could have spit-roast goose along with the stew tonight, and leftover goose as at least one meal the next day. Having seen how much the two wardens could eat in a single sitting, Morrigan was dubious that there would be more than one meal's worth of meat leftover from the bird.

She stopped by the stream that ran along one edge of the clearing where they were camped – whenever possible, Arren liked to stop near running water – and washed her hands clean before returning to her own separate campsite, setting up and starting alight her own fire as the last of the sun was fading away. She settled down beside her fire, writing in her journal by its light.

The crunch of boot soles on gravel made her look up, and she smiled to see Arren approaching, carrying two plates tonight, both holding a generous serving of stew topped with some pieces of succulent roast goose. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"Not all all," she said gravely, setting aside her journal before accepting her plate – one with a considerably smaller serving than that heaped on his own – and nodded at the ground nearby. "Make yourself comfortable."

He sunk down to sit cross-legged nearby, and they both ate in silence for several minutes.

"This goose is very good," he said after a while. "Thank you for helping with the hunting."

She smiled, and shrugged. "'Tis nothing," she said, feigning disinterest, but pleased despite herself at his words. Strange how enjoyable she could find simple words of gratitude. Of course, it was not like she was used to receiving such; Flemeth would have been more likely to have something querulous to saw about the thinness of the bird, or the time wasted in hunting meat that should have been spent more profitably on some other pursuit. Though of course failure to provide meat for the pot would also have been reason for criticism; if there was one thing she knew well from her years with the old woman, it was that she was rarely pleased by anything her daughter might do.

"So... um. Shapechanging. That's a pretty interesting capability. I know some Keepers can do it, but that was the first time I'd actually seen it," Arren said, looking at her curiously.

Morrigan nodded. "Flemeth taught the skill to me. It has its uses. Templars rarely pay attention to birds overhead, and it is far easier to hunt on two wings or four legs than two feet."

"Four legs? You can take other forms than the hawk, then?" Arren asked, sounding fascinated.

"Yes. Wolf and bear. I can also become a giant spider, and a swarm of stinging insects."

Arren blinked. "A _swarm_ of... how does that even _work!_ "

Morrigan smiled, a touch smugly. "With great difficulty. It is not too troublesome as long as you can keep the swarm compact, but if circumstances force you to spread out, then getting all the... bits... back together again afterwards can be a headache. Literally. The smaller a form is, the harder it is to maintain the shape, and to think rationally while confined to it. A single insect would be well-nigh impossible to hold, unless one was phenomenally powerful. Even division into a large swarm is bothersome; you must divide your _self_ , not just your physical being but your mental self as well, into many bodies, many little minds all working together. Thinking becomes very laborious when you are a swarm; the form has its uses, but it is best to only resort to it in an emergency."

"Impressive," Arren said quietly, with a tone in his voice that told Morrigan he meant the word sincerely. She smiled at him again, pleased by his admiration.

"Speaking of impressive, that was a good shot with your bow this afternoon," she said.

Arren shrugged, and smiled a little. "Not as impressive as your kills."

"Oh, pah! The only impressive part of mine was the form in which I did it. 'Tis far easier, to my thinking, to take a bird on the wing when one is a faster bird, with human intelligence guiding your talons, than to pierce that same bird using little more than sticks and string and a bit of sharp stone."

Arren laughed, and grinned. "I suppose my arrows would miss less if they were guided right to the target, yes," he agreed. "Though I do well enough with my sticks and stones."

Morrigan snorted. "Do not take offence that I named them so. In truth 'tis a skill I am somewhat jealous of; I have little skills with aught save magic. Oh, I can sew enough to keep myself dressed and shod, cook enough to keep myself fed, but I can do little more with a knife than skin game or shape leather, and nothing at all with sword or bow or sling."

"It is not skill at arms alone that make a man or a woman," Arren pointed out gallantly. "Even among the Dalish, there are those who do not bear weapons."

Morrigan nodded. "Yes. But that does not make me any less jealous of your skills with a bow. I made one once, you know."

"A bow?" Arren asked, sounding interested.

"Yes. When I was a child. I had seen the Chasind using them, and I was curious. I am afraid it was a very poor bow, and my arrows little more than pointed sticks with a split cut in one end. And no fletching; the longest shot I even took with it went no more than three feet, all told. But I had fun playing with it for a few days, pretending I was a bow-maid."

Arren smiled. "I would have liked to see that," he said gravely. "I can remember some of the small children among the Dalish playing with similar ill-made toys."

Morrigan smiled back. "Did you perhaps play with such yourself, then?"

Arren laughed. "Yes. And got in trouble for cutting myself when the knife slipped when I was trying to nock an arrow – look, you can still see the scar, there," he said, holding out his left hand and pointing at the knuckle of his first finger, where a faint white line could indeed still be seen against his tanned skin.

Morrigan peered interestedly at it and nodded, then returned to eating her meal. She smiled faintly to herself, remembering how much fun she'd had playing in the woods with her bow, at least until Flemeth had come across it one day and snapped it over her knee, scolding Morrigan and informing her that there were only two lengths of wood she should hold in her hand; a mage's staff, and a man's. It had been quite a few years later before she'd finally learned what mother had meant by the second, though the first she'd been forced to sit down and make for herself that very day.

That first staff had been almost equally as poor a representation of a magical implement as her bow had been of a hunter's weapon, but it had served her well enough while she learned enough to make a better one, that staff in turn being later supplanted by a better one in turn. It had been long years until Flemeth was satisfied with her skills at making the dratted things; she'd insisted on breaking them at intervals, too, forcing Morrigan to fashion new ones, saying that she was best off never becoming too attached to any particular staff, able to abandon and later make a new one at a moment's notice. It did make a sort of sense, Morrigan supposed – a man or woman walking with a staff was easily suspected of being an apostate. A man or woman with a belt knife and some useful odds and ends in among their belongings – strips of rough-cured leather, interesting shells, animal teeth, a large feather or two – was just another barbarian from the wilds. It took very little work to use the latter to produce a usable sample of the former.

She glanced at Arren, busily eating a piece of goose, and found her thoughts turning inexorably to the second 'length of wood'. She'd never slept with an elf, only human males, mostly of the large, muscular, and stupid variety. As soon as she'd been old enough, her mother had started teaching her about how to pleasure a man – a convenient and almost ridiculously easy way to bend many men to her will, Flemeth had told her, saying that once you got a man thinking with his cock, he usually forgot to think his brain. Learning how to take her own pleasure from the act had been of secondary importance in Flemeth's opinion, though Morrigan had noted that Flemeth rarely stinted _herself_ in that department.

She knew that elves were made differently than men – more than just the lack of stature and the pointed ears. Some of the differences she could see for herself – his slender build, a subtly different shaping to his torso and face, the added length to his fingers and toes. She wondered what other differences were hidden under those tight-fitting leathers he wore, and had to admit she was more than a little curious about the answer.

Perhaps one of these evenings she'd take the opportunity to find out, she thought, and smiled warmly at Arren as he finished his meal and looked up at her.

He smiled back, flushing just slightly. "Well. I should get back," he said.

She nodded, and handed her empty plate back to him as he rose. He paused a moment, as if trying to think of something else to say, then nodded. "Sleep well, Morrigan."

"And you as well, Arren," she said gravely, and watched him walk away.

He did have a rather nice ass, she found herself thinking. And then found herself wondering how human women looked to elvhen eyes – attractive, or distressingly oversized?


	3. A Small Token

Morrigan found Arren dropping back to walk at her side for a while the next morning, while Alistair and Leliana led the way, Mouse walk between them. The big man was paying far more attention to the dog than to the bard, she was amused to notice, and seemed oblivious to the bard's attempts to catch his attention.

"I was going through my pack this morning and came across this," Arren said, almost shyly. "I thought you might like it."

He held out one hand toward her. She glanced down, and blinked in surprise at the necklace draped over his hand. Chasind work, by the look of it, a leather cord with objects knotted into it at intervals; bear teeth, alternating with carved bits of bone. "Why give it to me?" she asked warily.

He smiled, held it out further. "The carvings made me think of you," he said simply.

She frowned, and lifted it from his hand, holding it up to take a closer look. And smiled; the end of each length of bone had been carved into the shape of an animal's head, a different one on each, including a hawk, a wolf, and a bear among them. "I... 'tis lovely," she said, touched. "Thank you."

Arren grinned. She undid the clasp of the necklace – a circle of bone at one end of the cord, a long peg at the other that could be slipped through its centre – then glanced at Arren and held it out. "Could you put it on for me?" she asked.

He looked surprised, then smiled. "Of course," he said, accepting it back.

She turned her back, arching her neck and smoothing the hair at her nape out of the way. He stepped closer, reaching around her neck with the end of the necklace. She felt his fingers fumbling to fasten the clasp, his breath gusting warm against the back of her neck. He was close enough that she could smell him; warm leather, a little sweat, the herbal mixture he used in place of soap, a faint undertone of male musk, similar to but different than how a human male would smell; sweeter, somehow. Less rank, anyhow.

"Done," he said, softly, stepping back again. She turned and smiled warmly at him. "Thank you," she said.

He smiled, warmly, flushing just slightly, and they resumed walking.

"So. Have you travelled much?" he asked after a while.

"Yes. I have seen much of Ferelden, and even some of Orlais, travelling occasionally with Flemeth but mainly on my own," she said, and glanced sideways at him. "I am no primitive, painted in blood and unable to speak the language. Flemeth knows much of the world, and taught me well."

Arren looked startled. "I didn't think you were. It's what some shem call we Dalish, you know – _primitives_."

Morrigan snorted. "They are fools that forget their own history, then. The elves were civilized when mankind still dressed in uncured hides and thought long pointed sticks were the epitome of weaponry. Or so Flemeth has taught me."

Arren nodded. "But now we are a fallen people, our empires mostly forgotten, our cities gone to dust or wilderness."

"A fallen people can rise again. Witness the people of Ferelden; within my lifetime they have gone from subjugation under Orlais to freedom and a thriving society following their own traditional form of government. Who might say what the elves might become, in a decade, in a century, in a thousand years."

Arren glanced at Morrigan, startled. "You are older than you look," he observed.

She smiled slightly. "I will take that as a compliment. And you, being an elf, are likely older than you look as well, at least to human eyes."

Arren smiled back. "Yes. I am..."

She quickly raised her hand, silencing him. "Do not say. I prefer not to know. Mother used to say that it was unwise to ask women or elves their age; women because it was rude and likely to anger them, and elves because it was depressing. Though given her own great age, I doubt it has ever been particularly depressing to _her_."

Arren laughed. "Yes, in this day and age I know of no living elf who can match the _Asha'bellanar_ in years. She has become a legend now even to us, who were once called the undying."

Morrigan nodded. "Let us speak of something other than my mother," she asked.

"Certainly. Like what?"

"I don't know," she said, surprised for a moment, then frowned in thought. "What of you, you asked of my travels – have you journeyed far yourself?"

"Yes and no," he said. "I have travelled far with my clan over the years, but most of that has been within the forests. This is my first time travelling apart from my people, among the shemlen," he said, looking unexpectedly saddened and sober. "I... miss them very much. I would not have left them if I'd had a choice," he added softly.

Morrigan darted him a look. "Why did you have no choice?" she asked, curiously.

He sighed, looking unusually sombre. When he resumed speaking his voice was low, hesitant, even pained at times, as he talked of two young elves and the trouble they'd found one bright summer day not long before. Morrigan listened quietly, attentively, not speaking. She had a feeling she was the first person he'd told this story to, and found herself... touched, by the trust it showed in her.

"...and so I left with Duncan to Ostagar. He seemed certain that Tamlen must be dead or near-death already, beyond our help, but sometimes... I dream, I have nightmares, that he is still alive, somehow, somewhere, in terrible pain."

They walked in silence for a while, side-by-side. She wished there was something comforting she could say, but could think of nothing.

"Hey, Arren," Alistair called, holding one hand up to shade his eyes, peering along the roadway ahead of him. "There's something in the road ahead."

Arren hurried forward to his side, frowning into the distance as well. "An overturned cart, I think. And someone is coming our way. Maybe there's been an accident."

They continued on at a slower pace, curiously watching the woman hurrying towards them.


	4. Failed Ambush

The woman ran up within earshot of them, waving one hand frantically. "Oh, thank the Maker! We need help! They attacked the waggon; please help us!" she called out. "Follow me! I'll take you to them!" she added, before turning and hurrying back the way she'd come.

Alistair and Arren exchanged a look, then hurried after her, the rest of the group perforce hurrying along in their wake as well.

It was only as they drew close and saw the woman leaning over to exchange words with a blond-haired elf that the pair finally slowed, Arren looking uneasily around. "Something is wrong here..." he muttered, looking at the scattered bodies. And then the bodies rose, drawing out weapons and moving to encircle the pair of Wardens and their companions. Not dead or wounded, but lying in clever ambush instead...

With a groan of splitting timber, a huge tree crashed down to block the roadway behind them, cutting off their retreat. The elf grinned widely, stepping past the woman who'd lured them in. She turned to smirk at them as the elf gestured and called out. "The Grey Wardens die here!"

Whomever the elf was, he'd sadly underestimated his opponents; before his men could close in, Alistair and Arren had drawn their weapons and rushed them, Sten and Mouse splitting off to either side, while Morrigan, seeing the woman drawing a staff out of the cart and beginning to cast, quickly cast a spell of her own, freezing the woman in place, before transforming into a bear and wading into the fight as well.

Arren took on the elf himself, wielding his massive two-handed with easy grace and a surprising turn of speed to keep the other elf's two lighter, smaller blades away. He disarmed the elf's mainhand weapon, dealt his offhand shoulder a numbing blow with the hilt of his weapon, then swung at the elf's head, only pulling his strike at the last moment, changing from a killing to an incapacitating blow, before moving on to help the others slaughter the remaining attackers.

"Why didn't you just kill him?" Alistair asked, watching Arren efficiently tie up the elf afterwards.

"He can't answer questions very well if he's dead," Arren pointed out. "And I'm curious as to why he wanted to ambush us."

It took some little time before the elf finally awoke, groaning in pain and retching weakly; for all the blow to his head had been pulled, it had still been no light tap. He was lucky Arren had not split his skull – had it been a metal sword instead of a much lighter ironbark one, it likely would have.

The elf proved surprisingly willing to talk – at length, too – about who he was, why he'd ambushed them, and who had hired him. Eventually he made a not-very-subtle plea for his life.

Arren frowned in thought. "Very well. I accept your offer," he said abruptly, crouching down to untie the elf.

"What? You're taking the assassin with us now? Does that really seem like a good idea?" Alistair exclaimed.

Arren glanced up at the other warden. "If you want to kill him, Alistair, then you do it."

Alistair looked shocked for a moment, then looked uneasily down at the still bound and helpless elf. "I... well, no, I suppose we could use whatever help we can get," he said, then grimaced. "Still. If there was a sign we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said hello."

"A fine plan. But I would examine your food and drink far more closely from now on, were I you," Morrigan pointed out dryly.

"That's excellent advice for anyone," Zevran remarked as Arren helped him to his feet.

Leliana made a face at Morrigan, then made a point of smiling charmingly at their latest addition. "Welcome, Zevran. Having an Antivan Crow join us sounds like a fine plan."

"Oh? You are another companion-to-be, then?" he asked, and ran an appreciative eye over her. "I wasn't aware such loveliness existed amongst adventurers, surely."

Her expression grew noticeably cooler. "Or maybe not," she responded, and looked pointedly away.

Zevran shrugged philosophically and turned back to Arren, drawing himself up straight, wincing slightly as it made his injuries twinge. "I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation... this I swear," he said, in formal tones, and gave Arren a slight bow.

Arren snorted, lips twisting into a slight smile. "Let's get you fixed up a little before we move on," he said.

Alistair sighed and unslung the pack he was carrying, which contained most of what few potions and poultices they'd been able to buy or make while in Lothering. "My job, I suppose," he said.

Arren grinned. "Unless you'd rather search corpses for valuables."

"I'd much rather bind wounds and apply poultices. Or does that go the other way around..." he mused aloud, already digging in his pack for supplies.

They were back on the road a short time later. Zevran kept up with them easily. Morrigan quickly decided that his main flaw – well, his main flaw apart from being an assassin who'd just tried to kill them – was his inability to be quiet. He chattered away like a magpie for the remainder of the day, not phased in the least when he drew little more than monosyllabic responses from most of them. Only Arren seemed willing to respond to his attempts at friendliness.

Though she was amused by how easily the elf managed to fluster Alistair, the couple of times the lummox made the mistake of responding to the elf's words.

Perhaps his chatterbox nature wasn't entirely without merit after all.


	5. Curiosity

Morrigan raised an eyebrow as Arren joined her at her fire again that night. "Are you regretting yet your impetuous decision to add the talkative assassin to our group?"

Arren smiled slightly. "Just a little, possibly. He does seem to go on and on, doesn't he?"

"Yes. Though I must admit to being amused by how easily he makes your friend Alistair blush. I have never before seen a grown man turn so many different shades of red in the course of a single afternoon."

Arren made a face. "I really should put a stop to that."

Morrigan glanced sideways at him as she carefully spooned up some of her supper. "You certainly didn't hesitate to stop _me_ from teasing him," she pointed out archly.

Arren frowned and shifted uncomfortably. "I might have, if you'd been... gentler about it," he said hesitantly after a moment, then looked down at the plate in his hands, stirring his stew but not lifting up the spoon. "You were kind of harsh on him."

Morrigan found herself looking away. "Perhaps," she admitted reluctantly, then sighed. "I have little experience with... gentleness, or kindness. Or humour that is not meant maliciously. My mother is... not an _easy_ person to live with. I fear I take after her in many ways."

Arren nodded. "Well. I suppose we all take after the people who have raised us, to one degree or another."

There was a loud outburst from the other campfire, and the two of them glanced that way to see Leliana and Zevran bent over with laughter, Alistair standing there turning so red it was noticeable from where they were, though by the expression on his face it was currently as much from anger as embarrassment.

"I may need to go rescue him," Arren said, frowning.

"By the way Alistair is flexing his hand, 'tis the assassin you may need to rescue," Morrigan observed. "I suspect Alistair is wishing he had his sword in hand. Whatever could the elf have said to so enrage him?"

Arren sighed. "I'd better go find out," he said. He hesitated a moment, looking at his half-eaten plate, before putting it down and smiling at her as he rose to his feet. "I'll be back. I hope."

She nodded, and watched him stalk over to the other fire, admiring how gracefully he moved. He stopped and spoke to the three for a moment. Leliana and Zevran recoiled slightly; he must have spoken sharply to them. Leliana backed off and sat down near her tent, turning her shoulder to those at the fire, face cool and composed, but by the stiff way she was sitting and the pointed way she holding up her head Morrigan guessed the woman was feeling offended. The assassin, on the other hand, appeared to be apologizing sincerely to Alistair before he retreated to the far side of the fire from the bard, where he stood at his ease, seeming not at all put out by whatever it was Arren had said.

Arren put his hand on Alistair's arm and led him away, the two disappearing into darkness under the nearby trees, Mouse rising to his feet and trotting after the pair.

Morrigan waited for a few minutes, then found her curiosity getting the better of her. She put down her plate and moved out of sight of the people around the other fire, then transformed into a wolf and darted off into the forest, circling around the clearing, sniffing the air and listening cautiously until she located the Wardens and hound. She slunk carefully through the darkness towards where they were.

She finally spotted the two under a tree, Arren leaning one shoulder against the trunk, his ankles crossed, Alistair sitting on a fallen log nearby, forearms resting on his knees and Mouse curled up at his feet. The mabari looked up curiously at her approach, but easily recognized her and, deciding she was no threat, lowered his head back down to his forepaws. She settled down in the shadows under a wide-spread bush nearby, forcing herself to concentrate on and listen to their voices.

"Make fun of my comrade-in-arms? Perish the thought. Well, you tell me: have _you_ ever licked a lamppost in winter?" Alistair was asking Arren. Judging by his tone of voice, the way he lifted his chin, and most tellingly of all, his deep blush, she assumed it was _not_ , in fact, actual lampposts he was referring to.

Arren's lips twitched into his usual crooked smile. She liked that smile; it seemed equally part knowing and part mischievous-boy somehow. And partly, too, as if he was amused at his own amusement.

"No, I've never licked a lamppost in winter," he replied calmly.

Alistair looked surprised for a moment, then hastily responded. "Good. I hear it's quite painful. I remember one of the younger initiates did it on a dare, once, and there was pointing and laughing... oh, the humanity." He paused, then looked away from Arren, voice dropping, speaking shyly. "I, myself, have also never done it. _That_. Not that I haven't thought about it, of course, but... you know."

Wait. ' _That?_ ' And 'lamposts?' They were talking about _sex_. And by the sound of it, both were claiming to be... inexperienced. _Virginal_. Which she admitted she could easily believe of _Alistair_ , it certainly explained how easily and deliciously the poor thing blushed, but... Arren too?

She's missed part of the conversation, she realized, and forced herself to focus again. The one major drawback of shapeshifting – animals regarded entirely different things as important to pay attention to than humans did. If she wanted to follow a scent-trail or be very aware of any potential prey moving in the area, then wolf was perfect. But for listening to conversations... not so much. It was just noise.

"...they raised me to be a gentleman. That's not so bad, is it?" Alistair asked, a little anxiously, glancing over at Arren again.

"Not really, no," Arren agreed.

Alistair nodded, then looked down at his hands, weaving his finger together. "I've... no urge to rush into anything. We may not even survive what is to come, after all," he said quietly, then abruptly rose to his feet. "Enough. I don't want to talk about this any more. Let's go."

Arren smiled and straightened up. "You go back, I feel like staying out here for a little while longer. If Zevran starts annoying you again, do your best to ignore it. Or hit him over the head with your shield, whichever you prefer."

Alistair laughed. "It might come to that. Thanks, Arren."

"No problem."

Alistair nodded and turned, walking off through the forest back toward the clearing where they were camped, moving anything but silently through the woods. _She_ could make less noise moving in full-sized bear-form than the warrior managed. She rose to her own four feet, meaning to circle back around to her fire again.

"Morrigan," Arren said quietly.

She froze, then stepped out from underneath the bush and transformed back to human, and sighed. "What gave me away?" she asked curiously.

Arren smiled that lovely little crooked smile of his again, and nodded at Mouse, who'd looked up interestedly at her transformation, and now gave his tail a short wag as they both looked at him. "He did. I saw him notice something and decide it was no threat, and once I knew where to look I was able to pick out a little of your shape. I wouldn't have noticed at all if it hadn't been for him; you sneak very well."

Morrigan smiled proudly. "Well, that's something at least," she said lightly.

"So... any particular reason _why_ you decided to spy on a private conversation between Alistair and myself?" Arren asked, voice hardening abruptly.

"I... no," she said, and flushed, realizing abruptly that she was in the wrong. "Curiosity, I suppose," she admitted reluctantly.

Arren nodded. "Don't do it again," he said flatly. "If I catch you at it, you can just head straight back to the wilds and your mother. And don't you _dare_ ever think of using anything you just overheard against Alistair," he added, a note of real anger in his voice.

"I wouldn't," she said softly.

He nodded. "Go back to camp," he ordered.

She nodded, then hesitated. "I'm sorry," she said softly, then turned away and walked off, circling back to her campsite.

He didn't return to her fire that night after all. She didn't suppose she could blame him for that.


	6. A Little Thick

Arren avoided her the next day as well. Which pained her rather more than she'd have expected it to; she'd become used to having the elf's company in their travels at least part of each day, even come to look forward to it. Flemeth was right, she decided – things like 'like' and 'love' were a distraction, something that merely granted another power over one's-self. Power that could then be used to hurt.

She resolved to avoid his company in future, at least as much as their shared journey allowed, and when he fell back to talk with her the next morning, cooling rebuffed him. He looked... disappointed, as he moved back to the front to walk beside Alistair again, and she became uncomfortably aware of how much _more_ it bothered her, when she'd expected it to hurt less, if anything.

In late afternoon of they rounded a steep hill and came in sight of the shore of Lake Calenhad. The old ruined causeway ran down the hill to their right, stretching out across the lake toward there Kinloch Hold rose a staggering distance into the sky, the tower built in the long-ago past by the Avvar people, before the Tevinter Imperium had come into these lands and driven them away. Morrigan had seen it before, but only from a distance; she'd never had any interest in seeing it up close, being home to the Fereldan Circle of Magi as it was; their prison, in more direct and truthful terms.

Arren led the way down to the docks, Alistair striding along at his side, the rest of them trailing along behind. There was a templar standing on the end of the dock, they saw as they approached, a small rowboat tied up beside him.

"That's odd," Alistair muttered. "There should be a ferryman, and a much bigger boat."

"You! You're not looking to get across to the tower, are you? Because I have strict orders not to let _anyone_ pass!" the guard called out as they grew near.

Alistair groaned. "I know that voice. Name's Carroll – he's a little... _thick_ , at times," he said in an undertone.

Arren nodded to acknowledgement to Alistair, then stepped forward. "I am a Grey Warden and I seek the assistance of the mages," he said in a clear, calm voice.

"Oh, you're a Grey Warden, are you? Prove it," the templar said, crossing his arms and sneering contemptuously at the elf.

"Prove it?" Arren asked, surprised.

"Kill some darkspawn. Come on! Let's see some righteous Grey Wardening," Carroll said, making a vague gesture with a clenched fist.

Arren and Alistair exchanged a look. Alistair rolled his eyes.

"There aren't any darkspawn here," Arren pointed out.

"That's good, I suppose. Wouldn't want darkspawn smeared across the landscape. I hear their blood is black. Is that true? You'd know if you were a Grey Warden!" the templar exclaimed as if he's caught them out somehow.

"No, it's red, like any other blood," Arren explained patiently.

"I don't know... my instincts tell me darkspawn shouldn't have blood like ours..." Carroll said, frowning thoughtfully. "Anyway, it was nice chatting with you. Now on your way. Right now. Go," he continued, and made a little shoo-ing motion at them.

Morrigan began to think that Alistair's description of the man as "thick" might have been an understatement.

This was confirmed, in her opinion, when a moment later when he responded to something Arren had said by running an appraising eye over their group, then pointed directly at her, leaning over to Arren and saying in what he clearly thought was a whisper but was in fact far too carrying for such "That dark-eyed temptress over there... surely the tower would be far too dull for her. Because it gets a little _lonely_ out here sometimes... and you know, you could just leave her with me..."

Morrigan stared at the man for a moment. Surely he wasn't suggesting what she thought he was... no, yes, obviously he was. She raised an eyebrow just slightly. "Oh. Excellent. I have been hoping for new prey," she said, letting a sultry tone creep into her voice.

"Prey?" the man said hesitantly, blinking at her like a rabbit under the fox's nose.

She turned and smiled at Arren. "'Twill take but a moment. Perhaps you should go aboard the vessel to prepare while we are away. We must row ourselves across," she said, and turned back to the templar, lowering her eyes to give him a particularly heated look, then continued, voice little more than a whisper. "I fear the lad will no longer have the use of his limbs... or his eyes, once I am done with him..."

"Er... maybe I should..." Carroll stuttered, starting to back away before remembering that he'd been standing at the end of the dock. Only a quick grab by Arren and Alistair stopped him from going over backwards into the lake, armour and all.

She laughed throatily, and clapped her hands together in delight. "Wonderful! I can sense his terror! _Oh_ , that will make the loving all the _sweeter!_ "

Between almost falling into the lake – a likely fatal fate, given the depth of the water and the heaviness of his armour – and her words, the poor man was pale as a sheet and trembling with fear. Arren had an almost mask-like calm look on his face, while Alistair was clearly biting back laughter. She was sure that if she looked at the others, she'd see equal amusement in the eyes of the assassin and the bard. Though the qunari would likely have his usual inscrutable expression. He could give lessons on concealing emotion to Flemeth herself.

"So you said you wanted to get across? Maybe we should go now. Right now. _Now_ ," Carroll was babbling, trying to hide from her behind Arren. "Err... only the boat is a little small. I can't take everyone! Only four!"

Arren smiled warmly, and patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. "Yes, let's go now," he agreed. "And I'll take... let's see... Alistair, Zevran, and Morrigan. Sten and Leliana, get yourself rooms at the Inn and guard our things, please."

Sten nodded, picking up everyone's baggage, and turned to walk away. Leliana pouted once at being left out of the trip across the lake to the Circle, and then followed him off.

The templar Carroll was looking rather deflated by now. Clearly he'd hoped Morrigan would be among those left behind. He took position near the front of the rowboat, where the oars were, Alistair took the middle, and Arren and Morrigan were together in the back.

"You're a very evil woman sometimes," Arren whispered in her ear as he bent down and turned to sit beside her. "I like it."

She smiled, feeling well-pleased with herself, and finding herself in a considerably improved mood.


	7. Quiet Companionship

Morrigan turned up her nose, pointedly ignoring the older mage seated beside her. She would far rather have been sharing the seat with Arren, but he was sitting by Zevran on the centre seat, that lummox Alistair sitting in the bilges between them, frowning and gently prodding at the bandage wrapped around his head.

"Alistair, if you disturb that bandage one more time I am going to give you _such_ a pinch..."

"Sorry, Wynne," the warrior said, looking temporarily abashed and quickly withdrawing his hand. He turned to look up at the slowly darkening sky. "How long were we in there, anyway?"

Arren glanced up at the sky, reading the position of the moon, she assumed by the direction of his gaze. "One day," he said. "Though it certainly felt like a lot longer, didn't it?"

Zevran shuddered. "You have no idea," he said fervently. "It felt like sheer torture at times..."

"Oh, please," Morrigan said in a bored tone of voice. "All you had to do was sit around down in the apprentice dormitories with the surviving mages and apprentices while the rest of us cleared the place of blood mages, abominations, possessed templars, and demons..."

"Exactly my point, my dear," he said, giving her a toothy smile. "Bored and surrounded by children, and several admittedly quite delectable mages as well, but with no chance to get to know them better. Every time I thought I was about to convince one of the mages to go off with me for a little mutual comforting, one of the brats would start howling again, or want a story, or complain about how hungry they were, or ask how much longer until the doors would open. _Torture!_ "

Morrigan snorted, then smiled slightly. "I will allow that being around children for so long might indeed be considered torture of a kind, to those not used to their company."

Zevran shuddered theatrically. "You understand, I don't have anything in particular against children – I was one myself, after all – but I much prefer the company of adults. Especially if they're _consenting_ adults."

Wynne harrumphed, and Arren hid a smile.

"We're, err... back to shore now..." Carroll called hesitantly from the front of the boat as he reached out and caught at one of the pilings of the dock.

"Good!" Alistair exclaimed, and leaned forward to catch at the dock as well, the shift of his weight making the small boat pitch dangerously. Mouse, up at the front, yelped and scrambled out, making it rock even more.

"Alistair!" Wynne snapped. "Sit _still!_ "

The man froze. Morrigan hid a smile, and glanced up to find Arren doing the same. She might not particularly care for the elderly mage, but the woman certainly had a way with the ex-templar. It was the tone of voice, Morrigan suspected – half grandmotherly and half commanding officer. She supposed it would continue to amuse her as long as the mage didn't think to attempt using such a tone with her – _she_ didn't take orders from anyone, least of all interfering old women. Well, apart from mother, of course, she mentally corrected. But that was _Flemeth_ , not some old baggage of a circle mage. Flemeth had _ways_ of making her displeasure felt if you crossed her.

Once the boat had steadied they all disembarked in turn, then made their way to the inn. They found Leliana sitting alone in the bar, a barely touched glass of wine on the table in front of her. Her face brightened with a welcoming smile as soon as she saw them.

"I am so pleased to see you returned!" she exclaimed, and went on to gush, in a barely-lowered voice, about how dreadful the inn was – the rooms too small and cold, the food terrible, the wine worse, and there being no entertainment of an evening. "Not at all like an _Orlesian_ inn!" she finished with a disdainful sniff.

"Yes, well, this is Ferelden, not Orlais," Alistair pointed out dryly, and moved off to thump down in a seat at a nearby table and loudly order a plate of stew and some ale. Morrigan concealed a smile.

Arren went off to talk to the innkeeper about rooms for the night for the whole party, and the rest of them sat down with Alistair and ordered food and drink as well. The stew was no worse than their own cooking produced, and if anything was better seasoned, the gravy thick with onions and herbs. Most of the vegetables were even still identifiable, not cooked down to a grey-brown mush as it quickly became in their own pot.

It being too early to retire to their beds, the others decided to remain in the common room, sitting around talking and drinking. Morrigan had had more than enough of other people's company over the last day and a half, however, and quickly found an excuse to leave. She sighed in relief as she slipped out of the inn and walked across the clearing to the lakeside. Far out in the lake she could see the rowboat sculling jerkily along, doubtless that foolish templar Carroll returning to the tower after delivering them to shore and a message to Kester. She could hear occasional mumbling and swearing coming from inside the boathouse off to her left, and judged it was likely Kester preparing his ferry to be put back in service the next day.

She had been sitting on the rocky shore for some little time, watching the sunset and enjoying the relative peacefulness of the evening, when she heard footsteps approaching. She glanced back, and smiled slightly when she saw it was Arren.

"I think you have the right idea," he told her with a smile. "Getting away from everyone else for a while. Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," she said.

He remained on his feet, but moved to stand nearby, arms folded, looking out over the lake and watching the sunset as well. "We still have legends about this lake, you know," he said after a while. "Though few Dalish have seen it in the long centuries since we retreated into the forests of this land. It was considered a place of great natural beauty once."

"I think it is still beautiful," Morrigan said, turning her head to nod at the fading sunset reflected in the waters, the great tower rising against the darkening sky, as stars appeared one by one.

"Pretty enough," Arren agreed. "But even more beautiful once, when the forests still lapped its shores and a great city lay at the river mouth to the north, where the immortal elves lived for endless centuries. Very little has come down to us of that time, but a song about the beauty of the towered city on the lake is one of them."

"What happened to it?"

Arren gave her a crooked smile, shrugged one shoulder. "What happened to the elves everywhere... humans came. The Avvar, their predecessors... it doesn't matter. The world changed, and that city's towers fell long ago, in darkness and bloodshed. Nothing remains of it now except a few tumbled stones buried in the marshes and fens between here and the Wakening Sea. This became human lands. The forests retreated, as men cut them for wood, cleared them for fields. The lake, once known for its beauty, is now considered by the Dalish to be a dark and fell place, its waters haunted by beasts bred by the malice and magics of man."

Morrigan nodded slowly. "I have heard my mother speak of such," she agreed. "Of the beasts in the deeps that make this a dangerous lake for boating or swimming. Of the strange things fishermen find caught in their nets sometimes."

Arren nodded in agreement, then glanced almost shyly at Morrigan. "I was thinking of taking a walk along the shore, before I saw you already out here. Would you like to join me?"

She smiled, and rose to her own feet. "Why not," she said agreeably.

They headed off together to the north, having to work their way around the ruined causeway but then having a long unbroken stretch of shoreline to stroll along. They walked along in companionable silence, a careful distance apart, until the lights of the inn were almost out of sight in the distance behind them. Arren finally slowed and turning to look out over the lake again. He took a few steps closer to the lake, stopping with the toes of his boots just inches from the water's edge. It was full dark now, the lake a smooth dark mirror reflecting the star-filled sky above, the tower of Kinloch Hold visible only as a greater darkness, silhouetted against the star-filled sky.

He sang, then, not in a full voice as the bard would have, but almost under his breath, an eerily beautiful song, soft and sad. He broke off after a while, darted her a sidewise look. "That's all of it I remember. Doubtless it was sung quite differently by the immortal elves; it was a song of celebration once. Now it is only ever sung as a dirge, a memorial to the beauty that has passed."

Morrigan nodded, then moved to stand beside him, looking out over the lake as well. She hesitated, then reached out and took his hand in hers. He gave her a startled look, then shyly smiled, and laced his fingers into hers. They stood there a long time, just watching the lake, before finally turning away and walking back to the inn and their companions.


	8. Accidental Encounter

They started back south from the docks the next day, headed for Redcliffe, Alistair having become increasingly worried by the rumours they'd been hearing that Arl Eamon, his guardian in his childhood, was deathly ill.

Arren walked beside Morrigan for a good chunk of the day, the two of them not talking much, but exchanging occasional glances and smiles. Morrigan found herself thinking how nice Arren looked when he smiled that lovely little crooked smile of his, the way it gave him dimples and made the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle up. She could imagine what scathing things Flemeth would have said about her fascination with the elf, and for once in her life, she didn't care. She liked Arren, and enjoyed his company. She'd heard of 'friendship' before; it, like 'love', was something her mother usually spoke disparagingly of. A snare for the weak, an illusion, a distraction for the weak-minded and soft-hearted and easily used.

And yet... this warm feeling she had when in his company, the little lift inside she felt whenever they exchanged a smiling look about some small detail of the day – surely this couldn't be as wrong as Flemeth made it out to be? It was... just something pleasant. A bonus to sharing the man's company.

Still, consideration of it had her feeling unsettled enough by the end of the day that she was happy to get away from their campsite for a while, and go for a lengthy run as a wolf. She enjoyed the stretch and shift of muscles under furred skin, the immediacy of wolf instincts and wolf-mind, which cared little about tomorrow or yesterday and concentrated instead on _now_. Her mood, as she picked her way back to camp afterwards, was considerably lifted.

Furred ears pricked and dark muzzle lifted at the sound and smell of flowing water nearby. The run had left her thirsty; she bounded through a patch of bracken fern and pushed through a cluster of thickly-interwoven cedar saplings, coming in sight of the small waterfall splashing down a rock-face into a small pool before realizing that the splashing came from more than just water falling on rocks.

It was with a curious feeling of inevitability that she discovered she'd come across Arren, standing naked and beautiful under the falling water as he bathed. And he'd heard her approach; he was turned to look toward her. He blushed, backing closer to the rocks as if hoping the water would hide him from her view.

She turned away, meaning to leave as quickly as she'd come. His voice stopped her. "Morrigan? That's you, isn't it?"

She hesitated, then returned to her own shape, back kept resolutely to the pool. "Aye, 'tis I," she agreed. "My apologies; I was thirsty, and smelled the water. I did not realize you were here until too late."

"I did not think you'd approached on purpose," he reassured her. "Among other things, had you meant to sneak up on me, I know you could have done it much more quietly," he added, his voice sounding amused. "Hearing something large coming through the bushes startled me; and made me remember how dangerous it was to be out here alone. I should have brought Alistair along for company."

Morrigan laughed. "And had me stumble on both of you? The poor man would still be blushing next week!"

She heard Arren laugh as well. "Well, my other choices would have been the assassin or the qunari. I'm still not entirely sure I trust Zevran, and Sten is... well, he's _Sten_. Anyway, since you're here already, would you mind staying while I finish bathing? Just in case the next thing to come out of the bushes _isn't_ a member of our party."

"All right," she agreed. "May I sit?"

"Certainly, go ahead. There's, ah... a log. Off to your right. You could sit there."

"Thank you," she said, and looked just far enough that way to bring it into her peripheral vision, before moving over to take a seat. She noticed his clothing was piled up on the other end of the log, and angled herself so that she could see neither him nor the clothing. An uncomfortable silence fell, broken only by the splashing of the waterfall and the faint sounds of Arren moving around under it. Morrigan found herself mentally replaying that brief sight of him, naked under the waterfall, looking up as she emerged from the trees. He _was_ shaped differently than a man would be, but it was a subtle thing; the narrower, deeper chest, the long smooth S-curve from ribs down to thighs, without as much of a dip in or out for waist and hips as a human would have. More intimate detail had been obscured by the foaming water.

"So. You went for a walk as a wolf?" Arren asked after a little while.

"Yes. For a run, actually; 'tis quite enjoyable," she said. "Almost as good as flying."

"The more I hear about the shape-changing you can do, the more jealous of the skill I am, I think," he said gravely. She heard splashing sounds moving nearer; he must be walking over to get his clothing.

She kept her gaze fixed on the forest in front of her. "It is rather a pity that only mages can learn such a skill," she said agreeably.

Another silence fell, as Arren dressed himself. She felt very aware of the nearness of him, the scent of the herbal paste that he used as soap, the sounds of clothes being shaken out, and pulled on over damp skin.

Arren cleared his throat. "I'm decent now," he said.

She turned and looked at him, giving him a teasing smile. "I thought you were quite decent before, as well. Even handsome."

He blushed, deeply enough that even his ears were reddening, but looked both pleased and amused, not offended. He coughed. "Thank you. I think. Well, while we're both here anyway, would you like to bathe as well?"

Her smile widened, and she rose to her feet. "I thank you for the offer. As my alternative would be to bathe with Leliana or Wynne or both along, I do believe I will take you up on it."

Arren smiled shyly at her. "You're welcome to use some of my soap, if you need any," he said, gesturing to the fold of leather that held more of the thick paste of fine-ground herbs.

Morrigan nodded. "My thanks. My own bathing supplies are still back at camp," she said gravely.

They changed places, Arren moving to sit looking off into the forest while Morrigan moved to where he had been standing. She quickly stripped down, piling her own clothing where his had been, and scooped up some of the herbal mixture before wading out to the waterfall. Holding her hand out to one side to keep the mixture from being washed away, she ducked under the water, letting it run down her body. It was pleasantly cool, and smelled clean, without the swampy scent some streams had.

She stepped back out from underneath, smeared the herbs over both hands, and quickly rubbed the mixture over her skin. It didn't lather at all, but still had a slick soapy feeling to it, from some natural oil in the leaves used to make it, she supposed. And the scent was not unpleasant, being mainly a smell of green growing things, like the forest itself. A good soap for a hunter to use; her wolf's nose would not have registered such a scent as being associated with anything to fear. Likely why she had not realized Arren was there, at the pond, until he'd come in sight; no out-of-place scent to give him away, like the assassin's scent of sandalwood-and-musk, or Alistair's harsh lye.

She eyed Arren as she rinsed off under the waterfall. Felt again that earlier warm lift of heart as she examined his turned back. This feeling was a good thing, she decided, no matter what Flemeth might name it.

Her bath finished, she waded over and quickly re-dressed. She'd have to comb out her hair after they got back to camp, and let it dry properly before putting it up again; for now she left it loose, running down to her waist in back.

"I'm dressed again," she told Arren.

He rose and turned, smiling as he looked at her. "I hadn't realized your hair was so long," he observed with surprise. "It's beautiful."

She smiled warmly at him. "I like having long hair, but it tends to get in the way; the wind blows it in one's face, or it tangles on branches. Or picks up burrs! So I usually keep it up out of the way."

Arren nodded. "I can understand that; even at just shoulder-length, my own is long enough to do the same at times."

They walked back to camp together, discussing mishaps with hair, clothing and forest flora that they'd experienced over the years, and were both smiling in shared amusement by the time they reached camp.

Morrigan couldn't help noticing the narrow-eyed look the bard gave her when Arren announced the nearby presence of a pond suitable for bathing; she'd noticed their damp hair and obviously leapt to the conclusion that the two had bathed together. It amused Morrigan. Let the woman imagine whatever she wanted; Morrigan had done nothing wrong. Even if they _had_ actually bathed together, which they had not, it would not have been any of the bard's business.

She was smiling as she moved off to her separate camp area. Though it was not the bard's too-obvious jealousy that had her smiling. No, it was the memory of Arren, standing under the waterfall, and the almost-smile she thought she'd seen on his lips as he first spotted her.


	9. A Welcome Development

They seemed to have developed a knack for meeting unexpectedly away from camp. Not in woods this time, but out in the grasslands. She was standing on one of the slight rolling rises, admiring the view she had of the vast expanse of nearly-flat land here, when she heard a hail, and turned to see Arren walking toward her, bow in hand and Mouse trotting along at his heels.

"Morrigan!" he called, as he drew close enough that she could hear him over the sound of the stiff wind blowing through the tall grasses. "Any luck hunting today?"

She silently held up the sizable hare she was carrying in one hand. He grinned and nodded, moving closer. "That's a nice one," he observed. "I haven't seen a thing since leaving camp."

She smiled slightly. "I cheated – 'tis far easier to spot game in country like this from on the wing than from down here."

He nodded. "Have I mentioned before how envious I am of that skill?" he asked, smiling warmly at her as he reached the top of the rise.

"Frequently," she observed, and smiled back, before turning to face into the wind again. "Such a lovely day; 'tis hard to remember the terrible events that must be taking place elsewhere, while we travel through such beautiful unspoiled countryside."

Arren nodded, and moved to stand beside her, looking out across the waving grasses. "I get the most terrible feeling of urgency sometimes, as if we're not moving fast enough; as if we might not get things done in time. I have nightmares of the darkspawn flooding out across the land – of what places like this would look like afterwards. Anywhere that darkspawn remain for long becomes as tainted and twisted as they are. Only fire cleanses the soil and plants of whatever corruption it is they leave behind. If they've lingered long enough, the land may be not just years in recovering, but decades, centuries."

Morrigan nodded. "I have heard such from mother," she agreed. "The wastes in the far west, similar barrens further north... it is a terrible thing. Here, hold this," she suddenly said, holding out the hare.

He took it, startled, and a moment later she leapt up, transforming into a bird on the wing, riding the wind up into the sky. She circled a moment, some distance ahead of where they'd been standing, then stooped, flashing down to disappear into the long grass. Arren shaded his eyes, watching. She rose to her feet a moment later, triumphantly holding up a second hare.

"How did you even know that was there?" he called out as she walked back to where he and Mouse waited.

She smiled, looking pleased with herself. "The way the grass moved; something more than the wind was disturbing it there."

Arren grinned and shook his head. "I would never have noticed that," he said.

Morrigan smiled again. "I have spent much time in the grasslands before," she answered. "You would likely be better at spotting game in heavy forest than I am. Well – that should be more than enough meat for the pot. I suppose we might as well head back."

Arren nodded, and fell into step beside her. They walked in silence for a while. Morrigan glanced over at Arren occasionally, and soon noticed that he was mainly looking away from her, watching the sky, the grass, the ground at their feet. Morrigan found herself smiling, watching him, charmed anew by his self-conscious shyness. The next time he glanced at her he didn't look away, but slowed to a stop, smiling back. She stopped as well, and turned to face him, one eyebrow rising questioningly.

He bit his lip, took a half-step closer to her, then paused, looking almost frightened. Her smile widened, and he moved even nearer. He leaned in, slowly, and kissed her on the lips, gently, briefly. He was flushed with embarrassment as he backed off again. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking away again.

"Do _not_ apologize," she scolded him, gently, and turned away and resumed walking.

Arren hurried to catch up with her, falling step with her again. "It, err... was welcome then?" he asked hopefully.

She laughed, and transferred the hare to her other hand, so she could reach out and catch his near hand in hers. She squeezed it. "Yes, it was welcome," she said agreeably. "There is only one thing I would reprimand you on over it," she added thoughtfully, before giving him a mischievous grin.

He smiled back cheerfully, picking up on her buoyant mood. "Oh? What is that?" he asked lightly.

"It didn't last long enough," she said, pouting slightly.

Arren stopped, and laughed, and pulled on her hand, drawing her close again. His second kiss lasted much longer, and was delivered with more assurance. He looked quite pleased with himself, when it ended. "And that?" he asked.

"Much better," she said approvingly. "You improve with practise. Perhaps you may become as adept at it, in time, as you are with that bow," she added, giving him an amused smile.

"Are you saying that you're willing to help me practise?" he asked as they resumed walking.

She squeezed his hand. "Perhaps," she said airily, looking away from him, out across the grasslands.

"Only perhaps?" he asked, sounding disappointed.

She smiled again. As camp came into view, she squeezed his hand again. "Yes. I would be most pleased to help you practise more."

"Good," he said, softly, and drew her close for a third kiss. She hummed in approval, releasing his hand so she could reach up and touch his chin, lightly guiding him to a better angle. When she let her mouth fall open a little, and licked at his lips, he only briefly hesitated before opening his mouth as well. It ended up being a very _long_ kiss, with both of them smiling and a little breathless when it finally ended.

"Well," he said, and cleared his throat, and smiled, looking self-conscious again. "I suppose we should leave off any further practise until later."

"Yes," she agreed. They resumed their interrupted walk toward the camp, no longer holding hands, but still walking side-by-side. She darted another sideways look at him. "Perhaps tonight?" she suggested, quietly, when they were almost at the camp.

Arren smiled crookedly. "Perhaps," he agreed, airily.

Morrigan laughed again.


	10. A Sudden Interruption

Morrigan smiled welcomingly as Arren walked over to join her at her fire, a plate of stew in each hand. He handed her both plates, so that he could take off and put aside his sword before sitting down beside her. Not actually touching her – there was still a couple handspans of distance between them – but much closer than the arm's length distance he normally sat. He reclaimed his plate from her, and they began to eat, darting little sideways looks and pleased smiles at each other between bites.

The stew was very good tonight, the hares seethed in the broth of yesterday's leftovers along with fresh herbs, vegetables and wine until it was so tender it was falling apart in flavourful shreds. They both made pleased sounds as they ate it. Morrigan eventually set her empty plate to the side, raising her knees and resting her folded arms on them as she watched Arren continue eating his way through his extra-large helping. "The way you and Alistair eat, perhaps I should have tried for a third hare," she observed.

Arren grinned. "It's a good thing we have several good hunters in the party. And a few people good at gathering or scavenging," he added. "And some good at more than one of them," he added, acknowledging that Morrigan's ability to identify all sorts of odd edibles had more than once contributed grains, wild greens and roots, edible fungi, and the like to stretch out their meals. As had Arren's own knowledge of wild edibles, though his was more specialized – for many of the plants he knew best, the growing conditions were rather specific to forested locations, and of little help when they were in grasslands, cultivated farmland, or even just the wrong type of forest. Though at least his skill with a bow in hunting worked equally well everywhere.

Morrigan shifted a little closer to Arren as he finished eating and put his plate down. She leaned against his arm. "So. Are you still interested in _further practise?_ " she asked softly.

Arren smiled warmly at her. "I do believe I am," he agreed quietly.

An outburst of laughter made them both look over to the other fire, where Alistair and Mouse seemed to be having some sort of altercation, Leliana almost falling over backwards as she howled with laughter, Wynne looking on with disapproval.

"Perhaps not here though," Arren said meditatively.

Morrigan nodded, and rose to her feet. "Come," she said, and walked away into the darkness, Arren silently rising to his feet as well and following her.

She led the way up to the top of a low rise nearby, one topped by a dense thicket of thorn-covered canes; raspberry, or perhaps blackberry, it was hard to tell in the darkness. Morrigan led the way around to the far side of them. Standing, they could still see the camp clearly; when they sat down in the grasses on the far side of the clump from camp, they were screened from sight.

This time they sat down right beside each other. Arren looked a little hesitant at first, but Morrigan simply smiled at him and leaned companionably against his side again. "How much longer until Redcliffe, do you think?" she asked, turning her head to look at him, thinking how handsome he was and how the subtle tattoos on his forehead merely accentuated his looks rather than hiding or marring them.

He made a face. "Two days, perhaps. We should be getting into the hills around the south end of the lake tomorrow."

Morrigan nodded. "You seem to know the country quite well for someone who has never travelled it," she remarked.

Arren smiled in amusement. "Yes, well, there's these things called _maps_ , you know – Alistair and I bought some in Lothering."

Morrigan snorted and shook her head. "Tsk. And here I thought 'twas some elven mystery that gave you such thorough knowledge of the road."

Arren's smile turned into a grin. "Well, I _do_ know at least a little about the geography of Ferelden outside the Brecilian Forest – this was once our land, after all, and the clans still travel widely to gather together once each decade for the meeting of clans, the _Arlathvhen_ , or to migrate to different areas when necessary."

Morrigan gave Arren an interested look. "I have heard of the gathering. I found it hard to imagine all the clans across Thedas coming together in one location."

Arren nodded, expression turning serious. "It is a dangerous time for the clans. A long way to travel, and often involving having to pass through areas where the clans are in danger of being preyed on by humans – bandits, slavers and the like. My own clan is moving north right now; when I left camp it was still being debated whether to take the long route to the west through Orlais, or to travel to the coast and hope to hire ships to ferry the aravels and halla across. Both have their dangers; we are little loved in Orlais, home as it is to the chantry, but on the other hand crossing by boat requires putting the clan at the mercy of ships' captains who may be more mercenary than honourable. Tevinter pays well for elven slaves," he added, face darkening in anger for a moment. He paused in thought for a moment. "I think they will go north. It would take enough ships for the ferrying – or enough separate trips for one or two ships – that there would never be enough elves on any single crossing to be a lucrative enough incentive for slavery."

"Will they return to Ferelden afterwards?" Morrigan asked, curiously.

Arren shook his head unhappily. "I think not. The Brecilian Forest has been becoming too overcrowded of late; Keeper Marethari has mentioned a time or two that it might be better for the clan to find a new territory up north. And especially with the Blight going on here there is an extra inventive to stay away once they have crossed the Waking Sea."

"So you will never see them again?"

Arren smiled crookedly. "Likely not. But that would be true even if they stayed in the south; I am a Grey Warden now – my path is no longer that of the Dalish, and my ties to the clans are gone," he said sadly, then looked away uncomfortably.

Morrigan said nothing, just leaned her head against his shoulder, and slipped her hand into his, offering silent comfort. The conversation had become more serious than she had expected; she should have kept things light, she found herself thinking.

After a few minutes he sighed, and turned to press his lips to the top of her head. She raised, it, turning to look at him questioningly. He didn't say anything, just raised his free hand to touch the side of her face, then slowly leaned forward to kiss her.

It was a gentle, tentative kiss. A sweetly innocent kiss, and somehow all the more erotic for not being practised, or demanding or any of the other things she was used to from the men she'd had experience with in the past. The kiss ended. The two exchanged a warm smile, then Arren closed the distance and kissed her a again, a little more heatedly this time, trying a different angle, using a little tongue.

Perhaps, she found herself thinking as she closed her eyes in pleasure, what made it so much better with Arren is that this wasn't a _taking_ ; this was a _sharing_.

After their third kiss she shifted position, turning to face towards him, her legs folded under her and took his hand, moving it to touch the curve of her breast. He swallowed nervously, gave her an intent, almost questioning look, then leaned forward and kissed her again, his long fingers caressing her skin as he slid them underneath the draped folds of her bodice. She hummed in approval as his fingers found and touched her nipple, feeling it harden and ache at his touch. His own breath caught for a moment, his fingers stilling, then when she pressed forward slightly against his hand, resumed their gentle exploration.

After a few minutes he sat back, looking flushed, and gave her a heated look. She smiled warmly at him, then leaned forward and ghosted a kiss over his cheek. She kissed the skin just below his ear lobe, before slowly licking her way along its outer edge. He froze for a moment, not even breathing, then gave a soft little exhalation of pleasure that made her stomach tighten in pleasant anticipation. She repeated the motion, then had to stop and catch her own breath for a moment as his fingers traced along the edge of her bodice, up the outer curve of the fabric and around back of her neck, seeking the fastening that held the drape of leather in place. He frowned after a moment, unable to figure out just how the clasp there should be undone. She smiled, then straightened and sat back, reaching up to unfasten it herself.

A loud feminine shriek broke the quiet of the night. She and Arren scrambled to their feet, turning to look toward the camp and see what the commotion was. The source of the scream was quickly obvious; an enraged Leliana was busy chasing Mouse across the campsite.

"Give them back, you stinking beast! My lovely _shoes!_ " she exclaimed, voice rising to a shriek of anger.

Arren groaned softly, then looked at Morrigan. "Sorry, I'd better go sort this out," he apologized.

Morrigan nodded. "So I see. I suppose we'll have to resume this another night," she said. She watched him hurry away downhill, and prudently decided to remain away from camp a little longer to avoid the fuss going on below. She sat back down again, sighing in disappointment.

A few minutes later she looked up sharply, hearing a crackling sound as something moved in the bushes behind her. "Who is there?" she asked sharply, turning to look, flames spring up around her hand.

A pitiful whine was her only answer. "Oh, 'tis you. What have you been up to this evening to so enrage the bard?" she asked suspiciously, letting the flames fade and resuming her seat.

Mouse crawled out of the bushes, ears and tail lowered, and flopped down dejectedly beside her. He opened his mouth, and the well-chewed remnants of a fine leather shoe dropped out onto the ground.

"Oh dear... you _have_ been a very naughty dog this evening, haven't you?" Morrigan said, unable to keep her amusement from her voice.

Mouse whined again, lowering his head to the ground and looking pitifully at Morrigan. She sighed, and reached out to stroke his head. " _I_ am not the one you need to ask for forgiveness," she pointed out, then abruptly rose to her feet. "Though I suppose it would be best if you avoided camp for the rest of the night. Perhaps she'll have cooled down by morning. Come, we will go for a run, and then you can spend the night at my fire, all right?"

By the time Mouse had bounced back to his feet, tail wagging happily, a wolf stood in Morrigan's place. The two turned and trotted off into the night together, Morrigan leading the way.


	11. A First Time

The next day was unseasonably warm, feeling more like summer then autumn. It made the day's travel considerably less pleasant, especially as they had to pass through an area of swampy lowland between the grasslands and the southern hills. By the time they made a stop for lunch, somewhere in the middle of a particularly boggy stretch, everyone was on edge from the heat and humidity.

Morrigan accepted her share of their lunch – some pan bread left over from breakfast that morning, a wedge of cheese that would have been better if not carried around in someone's backpack on a hot day – and wandered away from the party in search of a little privacy. She eventually settled down in the shade of a wizened tree on a low brush-covered hummock some distance from the road – in ear shot of the others, if they called loudly enough, but well out of sight.

She nibbled on the pan bread, then tried the sweating cheese, wondering if it was supposed to smell like unwashed socks, or if that, too, was from storage in the backpack. She'd finished her bread and was sneering at the unfinished cheese when Mouse came trotting up, tongue hanging out. She smiled, and offered him the cheese on the flat of her hand. He sniffed at it curiously, then wagged his tail and ate it in one bite.

"Bribing my mabari not to give away your location?" Arren asked, amused, as he walked around the cluster of brush.

Morrigan smiled warmly at Arren. "Too late, I see, as he has already led you straight to me," she said, and winked at Mouse. "Good boy."

Mouse wagged his tail, then wandered off to sniff around the edge of a nearby pool of algae-scummed water. Arren sat down beside Morrigan. "Sorry about the abrupt end last night," he said quietly.

Morrigan made a dismissive gesture. "There is no need to apologize. 'Tis not your fault that your hound angered the bard, and he has already apologized to me and been duly scolded. It merely means we will have to try again later."

That won a delightful little crooked grin from the elf. "I look forward to it," he said, voice low, then leaned over to kiss her cheek. She smiled, and he kissed her a second time, on the lips, his hand moving to cup the back of her neck. She made an approving sound, and they continued trading pleasant kisses for some little time.

Mouse suddenly barked and ran back in the direction they'd come from, tail wagging furiously.

"Hey, Mouse – where's Arren?" they heard a familiar voice asking. Alistair. They quickly separated, turning to look in Alistair's direction as he came into view around the clump of brush.

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," he said, blushing slightly, clearly surprised to find the two of them together, then looked to Arren. "Leliana was wondering when we were going to move on – are we stopping long enough for people to nap or go hunting, or are we moving on again shortly?"

Arren frowned and rose to his feet. "Moving on shortly, as I'm certain I'd said before I left the group," he said almost curtly, then turned and offered his hand to Morrigan, helping her back to her feet. "I suppose we might as well get back underway now. The sooner we get moving, the sooner we'll be out of this swamp and into the hills," he pointed out. "Hopefully it'll be cooler there. Or at least less humid."

"If you don't mind, I think I'll do a little hunting while we're still in the swamp – I should be able to get some waterfowl, or perhaps fish, and rejoin you all later," Morrigan said coolly. She had little doubt that the bard had purposefully sent Alistair out after them, and had little desire to spend the remainder of the afternoon in the woman's company. "If you wouldn't mind carrying my pack for a little while?" she asked.

Arren smiled. "No problem," he said. "You're sure you can locate us later?"

"Of course," she said. "Unless you stray widely from the road, or are under particularly thick cover, and even then I should be able to spot the smoke from your fire from on high."

Arren nodded understandingly. Morrigan glanced once at the puzzled-looking Alistair, then abruptly smiled at Arren. "Give me a boost, would you?" she said, and turned into a hawk, delighting in the flabbergasted expression that crossed Alistair's face; it was the first time he'd witnessed her change form, as she'd been quite circumspect in the use of her shape-shifting powers until now. Arren crouched down, holding his arm crooked before her, low to the ground. She hopped onto his forearm, taking care with her grip – her claws were more than sharp and strong enough to pierce through his leather armour, had she wished to – and he rose carefully to his feet.

Alistair had moved closer, still gape-mouthed with surprise – and no little amount of admiration, which she had to admit she quite liked receiving, even from the ex-templar.

"That... was _amazing_ ," the man said, in an awed voice. "That's really Morrigan?"

Arren grinned. "Yes. She's quite the huntress, isn't she?" he said, and gently stroked the curve of her wing with the back of one finger. She dipped her head, closing her beak for a moment on his finger – which drew a worried squeak from Alistair, and a delighted grin from Arren as her tongue rasped once against his skin within her beak. Then she released the finger, and mantled her wings, turning her gaze pointedly skywards. Arren drew his arm back slightly, then launched her, both men watching as she climbed overhead, circling around to find a thermal to help lift her higher up, to a good hunting height.

They remained there a couple of minutes, heads tilted back and watching her, doubtless discussing her and her powers, before finally turning and heading back toward the road. She hoped Arren would think to tell the warrior to remain silent about her abilities; it had been foolish of her to show off so, and thereby waste one of her major advantages.

She circled slowly higher, watching from on high as they reached the road, gathered belongings and people, and set off again. Only then did she move away from the area herself, keeping a sharp eye out for game.

* * *

It was nearing evening when she rejoined the group, some distance into the hills now, carrying a pair of plump ducks. They had been cleaned, but not yet plucked, a task Alistair volunteered to help do. She was mildly surprised at him doing so, at first, then realized that he was likely still feeling rather awed by her newly revealed talents and wanted to talk about them. She hid an amused smile, and forbore making any of her usual acidic comments.

It wasn't long until Arren chose a place to stop for the night, a small tree-filled valley off to one side of the road, between two hills. A narrow spring-fed stream fell down one hillside, wended its way out of the valley and off in the general direction of the lowlands they'd been in earlier that day. Everyone worked quickly in getting their camp set up, knowing they'd have a chance to bathe once their chores were done. Alistair, as she'd more than half-expected, asked several fascinated questions about her shape-shifting abilities, thankfully in a quiet voice while they worked on cleaning the ducks some small distance downwind from everyone else, not wanting the feathers to end up drifting all over their camp.

Once the cleaned birds had been handed over to Zevran, who was on cooking duty that evening, she set up her own little campsite off to one side, then headed off to the small pool that had designated as the bathing area, accompanied by Leliana and Wynne. She wished she'd had some other choice of bathing companions; Wynne was not so bad, for an interfering old baggage – the circle mage reminded her rather of a pale copy of her mother, if anything, and was therefor easily ignored. Leliana, on the other hand... the woman was beginning to get on her nerves, with the little catty comments she was always making about Morrigan's appearance and apparel. Not to mention the increasingly unsubtle ways she was trying to come between Morrigan and Arren.

Thankfully the pond was large enough that Morrigan could put some space between herself and the other two women, and then purposefully ignore their conversation while she bathed. It was pleasant to be clean again, she found herself thinking, as the three of them returned to camp after, clean and sweet-smelling from head to foot.

She smiled with unusual warmth at Arren and Alistair as they led the group of men off to bathe – all but Zevran who, being on cooking duty, had to forsake the opportunity to bathe in order to mind the pot. At least until after the meal, when he'd either have to risk bathing alone, or talk one of the other men into accompanying him.

Settling down at her own fire, she let down her hair and spent some time combing it out, letting it dry at least partially before putting it back up in it usual rough knot. By then the men were back from their own bath, and it wasn't long afterwards until Arren came over to her fire, carrying two plates of food. They exchanged mutually pleased smiles, and settled down together to eat.

"The assassin is a surprisingly skilled cook," Morrigan observed, looking over her plate; heaped with beans and succulent morsels of duck, richly scented with fresh herbs, as well as the well-cooked leftovers of the last few days; vegetables, hare, and some mutton that had started out tough and stringy but after a couple of days of reheating was now tender enough to be falling apart in shreds.

Arren nodded, as he chewed and swallowed a mouthful before answering. "He is," he agreed, then frowned thoughtfully. "I'm relieved that so far he seems to be proving trustworthy, as well; his martial skills are astonishing. I find myself hoping he's a particularly highly-skilled Crow; the thought that he might just be _average_ is rather disturbing."

That drew a laugh from Morrigan. "Our whole group seems quite surprisingly skilled," she remarked after eating some more of her own dinner. "Wynne is a very able healer, for all her age. There is not a hair's difference in skill between yourself and Sten, even though he is lacking in the advantages of strength and stamina you have as a Grey Warden. Alistair, for all he talks of how unskilled he is, what a poor leader he is, is a formidable warrior in battle and well-suited to being the strong centre of our line. Even the bard is extremely skilled with that bow of hers, and more than passable with daggers as well."

Arren nodded agreement, then looked questioningly at Morrigan. "I note you leave yourself out of your evaluation."

She shrugged. "Anything I said about myself would either sound like bragging, or false modesty. Though I have little doubt that my skills stand up on a par with those of the rest of you." Arren smiled and gave her a half-bow of acknowledgement. They continued talking, mainly about the varied skills of their assorted companions, until their meal was finished.

"Well. I was thinking of taking a walk in the woods after dinner," Morrigan said, with studied casualness. "But I seem to recall that our leader dislikes any of us to be alone in the wilderness, in case of darkspawn. Or bandits. Or angry wildlife. I don't suppose you'd care to accompany me?" she asked sweetly, arching one eyebrow high.

Arren laughed, then grinned and rose smoothly to his feet. "Of course. There might be something dangerous out there. Though not darkspawn – there's none close enough for me to sense, anyway. Still, I wouldn't want to worry about you running into an enraged squirrel or something."

That drew a laugh from Morrigan. She accepted Arren's hand as he helped her to her feet, then the two walked off into the darkness together, heading over to the stream and then following it back away from the road. This time they went well beyond earshot of the camp, neither wishing a repeat of the previous night's interruption. They finally stopped in a small clearing, on the bank of the stream. The hillside was gently sloped, here; the water making pleasant sounds as it ran down through a series of small rock-edged, gravel-bottomed pools, none much larger than a couple feet across or more than ankle-deep. They found a place to sit, where the ground was reasonably level and the grass short-cropped by some browsing animal; rabbits perhaps, or a deer.

Arren kissed her, long and slow and sweet, his hand cupped around the back of her neck, fingertips toying just a little with the fine wisps of hair there. The next kiss was more heated, and it wasn't long before they'd progressed as far as they had the previous night, his fingers caressing the soft skin hidden within her draped bodice. She reached up and unfastened the closure at the nape of her neck, letting the leather slither loose down her front, pooling in her lap, then reached behind her to undo the lacing at the back, removing it entirely.

Arren kissed her again, his hands moving to cup her breasts this time, thumbs teasing at her nipples. She made an appreciative moan, her own hands reaching to find and begin unfastening the buckles holding his leather armour on. She was both disappointed and appreciative when he abandoned caressing her for long enough to help with removing his own more complicated coverings, baring his own torso.

She had seen this much of him before, of course, when she'd come across him bathing. But this was her first chance to examine him at leisure, to not just look but reach out and touch, seeing the different proportions of him compared to what she knew of human men, feeling the subtly different shapes of bone and patterns of muscle in his torso. The deeper chest and the interlacing of the muscles between arms and upper chest made her think of birds; of the extra leverage their breastbones gave to the long muscles that powered their wings. Small wonder, perhaps, that even as slight as he seemed next to a comparably sized human, he could handle his great-sword with such ease.

They spent a while in wordless examination of each other, not just with eyes and hands and finger, but sometimes with lips and tongue as well, exploring the differences in texture and in taste. Eventually more things were removed, Morrigan's long leather skirt spread out beneath them to protect tender skin from the rough grasses and pebbles, other differences examined.

He was much like any man, very much so, again only subtly different from the familiar; less hair, for one. Much less hair, little more than a fine soft down on his intimate parts, smooth everywhere else. And his parts were differently shaped as well; the shaft a little narrower, more oval in cross-section than circular, the glans a little more widely flared, balls tucked up neatly rather than dangling loose like a human male's would. He seemed fascinated with her differences as well, almost startled at first by the dark curls nestling between her legs, before hesitantly touching them; lightly at first, as if testing their texture, then with more assurance.

She let her own hands roam, making similar explorations of his body, her touch more practised; he reacted as she'd have expected any man to, cock rising as she lightly handled him, foreskin withdrawing to expose his flared tip, moisture seeping from it as he hardened. He was flushing with arousal, as she was herself; their breathing deepening, as they continue they exploration, exchanging gentle kisses at intervals.

There came a point where he hesitated, clearly at a loss as to whether to or how to proceed. She made it easy on him, gently guiding him into laying down on his back, kissing him deeply, caressing him soothingly, before she moved to straddle him, then slowly lowered herself down. His breath caught as his tip slip past the first resistance, then slid slowly inside her. She bent down, kissing him again, moaning in aroused pleasure as he slipped one hand behind her head, fingers twining into her hair, his other hand reaching down to brush her breast, then further yet, to explore with slightly-shaking fingers where he disappeared into her.

She pulled out of the kiss, sitting back a little, bringing more of her weight down on where they were so intimately joined, then slowly rolled her hips, drawing a deep gasp from him. His eyes were large and dark as he stared up at her. He reached up, cupping her head between his hands, pulling her down for another kiss as she rolled her hips again. This time his own hips moved as well, pushing up to meet her movement.

She smiled against his lips, drew back just slightly. "Yes, just like that," she told him, voice low and approving, then resumed the kiss. He groaned as she altered her pace, his hands moving to cup her shoulders, stroking down her sides before closing around her hips, just below her waist. She liked that his grip was firm, but not bruising; that even as he abandoned himself to the motions of their bodies, he retained enough control to be _gentle_ with her. A novel experience, compared to most of the men she'd seduced at Flemeth's instigation; so few of those had cared about any pleasure but their own, about any discomfort they might be causing her.

She arched backwards as she felt her climax coming, grinding in short hard thrusts against him now, driving him repeatedly against the places inside that brought her the most pleasure. His pace faltered, then matched hers again, and when she cried out in pleasure, his own orgasm followed moments later, his own deeper outcry like a delayed echo of hers.

She allowed herself to collapse over him, afterwards, pleased by the protective way his arms closed around her, holding her close. Another difference, that she felt comfortable letting him do so, that he did not withdraw and turn away as soon as they were done, ignoring her. She closed her eyes, resting her head in the crook of his neck, feeling his rapid pulse fluttering against her own temple, hearing the rasp of his breathing, feeling the heat of his skin against hers. His hugged her to him, then stroked one hand down her back in a lazy, soothing movement, a petting motion. She liked that, she decided, and sighed in satisfaction, before turning her head slightly to press a kiss against the soft warm skin in the dip above his collarbone.

Arren made a low, pleased sound, and she felt his own lips brush soft and warm against her forehead. "That was..." he began, and trailed off. Hugged her tightly, and kissed her again.

She sighed, after a long moment. "As nice as this is, I fear we will be quite uncomfortable soon, if we don't clean ourselves up," she pointed out, tilting her head back to look at his face.

He smiled warmly at her. "All right," he agreed, and leaned his head down to kiss her again before they carefully disengaged. The nearby stream at least made cleaning themselves off simple, if perhaps a little chilly, after which they silently redressed in their clothes before sitting down again, side by side. Arren took Morrigan's hand in both of his, smiling warmly at her as she leaned companionably against his shoulder.

"What happens now?" he asked after a few minutes. "With us."

Morrigan frowned thoughtfully. "I do not know. Is there an us? Will there be an us? Or was this merely an enjoyable experiment, a casual liaison we both enjoyed but which has no real future."

Arren frowned as well, looking puzzled, then looked questioningly at her. "You sound like you're not sure if you want there to be an _us_."

"In truth, I am not sure," she said. "I... like you. At least as a friend. And this was very sweet, very enjoyable. But... truly, I do not know. Mother told me that friends, that love, is a weakness, a madness, a foolish delusion that should be avoided."

"Do you _want_ to avoid me?" he asked, sounding surprised and a little distressed.

She sighed, and lowered her head to his shoulder. "No," she admitted after a moment, honestly, voice low and hesitant. "No. I do not."

He didn't ask anything further, but instead put his arm around her shoulders, holding her close. "Good," he said, and kissed the top of her head, just once.

They sat there in silence for a long time, until well after dark. "It grows cold," she finally said, and sighed, shrugging his arm away and sitting up. "We should go back to camp."

He nodded. They rose, and walked back, hands occasionally brushing together but otherwise avoiding touch. They paused once the glow of the campfires came into view, and turned to not-quite-face each other, Arren chewing on his lower lip and looking nervously down at the ground, Morrigan glancing at him only once before looking toward her separate campsite.

"I see I owe someone thanks for keeping my fire fed," Morrigan said, nodding toward where her fire still burned long after it should have been down to coals and ashes. "I am surprised someone thought to do so. Not the mage or the bard, I would think... nor the qunari. Perhaps the assassin."

Arren raised his head and smiled faintly at her. "Or Alistair. He has a kind heart at times."

"He does," she admitted, almost reluctantly. "Well. I suppose this is good-night," she said, before turning away and beginning to walk off toward her own campfire.

"Morrigan," Arren called after her, softly. When she turned to look at him, he looked uncertain again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in his obvious nervousness, hands clasped behind his back. "Thank you."

It startled a smile out of her. "You are welcome," she said, and took another few steps away, then turned back again. He was still watching her. "Perhaps I might ask you to join me in my tent some night? It does get cold, sometimes..."

He smiled, warmly, just a hint of his crooked grin curving one side of his mouth higher than the other. "If you did, I think I'd be happy to accept. Honoured, even."

She nodded, feeling obscurely pleased, then turned and walked away.


	12. A Final Decision

Morrigan found herself avoiding Arren's company the next morning. She had too much to think on; in her attraction to Arren, she had not considered anything beyond bedding him. And now that she had done so... she realized that perhaps she should have. It wasn't at all like it had been with any of her previous encounters. Those had merely been... learning experiences. Learning – under her mother's rather explicit instruction – how to seduce a man, how to ensnare him with pleasure, control him.

"The shortest way to a man's heart may be his stomach – either by feeding it well or by sticking a dagger up through it – but the easiest way to sway a man's brain is to have a firm grip on his balls," Flemeth had told her, more than once. There were, of course, exceptions – men who cared little more about whom they bedded, as long as they got enjoyment out of the act – but even then being their bed-partner presented opportunities that might not otherwise be available. And occasionally other advantages, in terms of protection or access to places and things one might otherwise be kept away from.

But none of that had been on her mind when she'd decided to seduce Arren. Not to control him, not to gain protection from him, just... because of how kind he was. And at least a little because he was so handsome. How _different_ he was, than any other man she'd ever spent time with.

Odd to think back and remember how innocent and even naive he'd seemed to her at first, because he'd been so quiet and polite. But he was no innocent; sexually inexperienced, yes, but the pair of them had already made a good start on correcting that. And far from naive – his quietness and politeness masked a quick wit and a deep reserve. And he was kind. Intelligent. Strong, not just physically but emotionally as well.

She had to face it – she _liked_ him. At least as a friend, as she'd admitted the night before. Which Flemeth would certainly _not_ approve of, but... She wasn't Flemeth. She was _herself_ , and if she decided to have a friend, that was her decision to make. And friendship was not, whatever her mother might say, a weakness.

They stopped for a brief lunch break. Morrigan claimed a handful of the strips of jerky and leathery dried apples they were having for lunch, and sought Arren out. He smiled warmly at her as she sat down beside him.

"So. Will we be reaching Redcliffe today, do you think, or will there be another day on the road?"

"Another day," Arren said. "If we could travel straight overland from here to the castle we could make it by late evening, but there are several deep valleys between here and there, most with rivers in them; the road curves a fair bit south here before heading west and then north again. If Alistair and I are reading the map right, it likely won't be until sometime around noon tomorrow before we reach the village."

"A pity," Morrigan said, then glanced sideways at Arren and gave him a very tiny smile. "I fear it may be a cold night."

Arren nodded, and put on a serious expression. "We should put up the tents. Just in case. I wouldn't want anyone getting chilled."

"Of course," she agreed solemnly.

Serious expressions melted away, and the two of them laughed. When the group resumed moving again after lunch was finished, they walked side by side, at the front of the group, talking happily together.


End file.
